Consequences
by Clowns or Midgets
Summary: Season 14 AU. Sam is determined to free Dean from Michael and turns to Rowena and the Book of the Damned for help. She finds a spell that will work, but, of course, there will be consequences, and this time, Sam will be paying the ultimate price unless Dean can find a way to save him in return.
1. Chapter 1

**Here we go with another new story, another S14 AU even. I obviously have a type ;-)**

 **Thank you so much Jenjoremy and Ncsupnatfan for all you did to make this chapter readable. I can't overstate how much these ladies do for me. They're the best.**

 **This story came from an anonymous prompt on the OhSam page on LiveJournal. I will post the prompt at the end as it will give too much away.**

* * *

 **Thank you prompter, whoever you are, for allowing me to explore your idea.**

 _ **Chapter One**_

Dean was sitting across the table from Sam with a fan of cards in his hand and a wide smile on his face. Sam was feeling perfectly at ease, a sensation that felt strange to him for some reason that he couldn't pin down. He was sure he was missing something important that was just on the fringes of his mind.

Mary came into the room with boxes of pizza in her hands and called, "Soup's on."

"Good timing," Dean said, laying down his cards and grinning wolfishly at Sam. "Full House."

Sam frowned. "I thought we were playing blackjack."

Dean shrugged. "How would I know? It's your dream, man, not mine."

"Dream?"

Dean stretched his arms over his head and yawned. "Yeah, Dream. How else would I be here?"

"You need to get some sleep, Sam," Mary said solicitously, setting her boxes of pizza on the table and touching his shoulder. "You're exhausted."

"I'm already sleeping," Sam said vaguely. "I must be if this is a dream."

"It is," Dean said. "But you need more sleep. You're never going to find me if you're running on empty."

"Find you?"

Dean stood up and walked around the table to Sam. Sam flinched back, suddenly scared of his brother.

"You have to find me, Sammy. He's hurting me."

"Who's hurting you?"

Dean leaned close and his eyes lit up with blue-white light. "Michael," he said his voice echoing.

Sam gasped, the memories rushing at him. Lucifer, Jack, Dean, Dean fighting, the blade in his hand, Dean's face, twisted with torment as he growled, "We had a deal!" and then the way he'd straightened up and Sam had been unable to find any sign of his brother in Dean's face.

"You need to hurry, Sam," Mary said calmly. "Your food is getting cold."

Sam jumped to his feet, willing himself to wake up and get away from the dream. Why had they let him sleep? He needed to find Dean. He fisted his hands and punched his own chest, but their faces remained stubbornly there.

"Need help?" Dean asked.

"Yes!" Sam said desperately.

Dean stepped closer and a long blade dropped into his hand. Sam backed away and turned to run, but Michael was too fast. He grabbed Sam's shoulder and held him in place as he drove the blade into Sam's chest over his heart.

"Better?" Mary asked kindly.

Sam felt the dream losing its grip on him and he sighed with relief, despite the pain drilling through his heart. "Yes."

"See you soon, Sammy," Dean said, and then his voice faded along with the shapes of the bunker.

Sam jerked awake with his face pressed against a cool surface. "Dean!" he gasped, straightening up and looking around the room.

"Not yet," Mary said sadly.

She was standing beside him, her hand on his back, and Rowena and Castiel were sitting opposite. Rowena was turning the pages of the Book of the Damned with a strange look on her face. It was almost greedy, and Castiel was flipping through printouts of Charlie's deciphering of the codex.

"Why did you let me sleep?" Sam growled.

"Because you needed to," Mary said. "Jack and Bobby are sleeping, too."

"They can," Sam said. "They're not the ones that are going to get Dean back."

Mary sighed and walked to the dresser where Sam had set up the coffeemaker so he didn't have to keep making trips to the kitchen to get his fix. Every moment spent doing anything that didn't directly lead to getting Dean back was a moment wasted.

She poured Sam a cup of coffee and brought it back to him. He took it and drank it down. It was stale and almost cold, but it would do the job.

"Have you found anything yet?" Sam asked Rowena, making no attempt to keep the impatience from his voice.

"Yes," she said.

Sam started. "You have?" He turned to his mother. " _Why_ did you let me sleep?"

"We only just found it," Castiel said. "And we were trying to wake you when you started shouting. What happened?"

"Dream," Sam said curtly. "What have you found?"

"It's a spell called 'Pellere hostem', and it will expel Michael from the vessel."

Mary scowled. "It's not a vessel. It's my son."

"Forgive me for not being more sensitive," Rowena said. "I tend to lose tact when I'm allowed no more than three hours sleep at a time. The spell will expel Michel from _Dean_."

"That's awesome!" Sam said, lurching to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest. "What do I have to do?"

"You? Nothing. Well, nothing for the spell. I know you and Dean dabble from time to time, but this requires an experienced witch to cast it. Your job is to be the weapon."

Sam's expression darkened. "Weapon?"

Rowena rolled her eyes. "Don't worry yourself. Dean won't be hurt, much, but you're in for a world of hurt. You are going up against an archangel after all. For the spell you have to share blood with him; both literal and metaphorical. You need to injure him enough to draw blood, and then mix it with your own. The metaphorical part it already taken care of, you're brothers, and that's just to find him."

"Wait!" Sam held up a hand. "There's a spell to find him? How long have you known about this?"

Rowena tapped her chin. "Well Dean was taken two weeks ago, and I got the book back on a Wednesday, so that would make it… 1784."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sam shouted.

"Because, against my better instincts, I like you, Sam, and I didn't want to send you off to your death for nothing."

"It's Dean, not nothing, and I could have reached him," Sam said angrily. "I could have reached him like he reached me when Lucifer had me. He could have expelled Michael himself!"

"The chances of that were slim," Castiel said. "That situation was singular. You had honed your abilities when you were exorcising demons. Your body was suffused with demon blood. And even then, the odds were against you. We don't even know if Dean is aware of what's happening. Michael could have placed him in a dream like Gadreel did you. You going to him without a plan would have ended in your death. I agreed with Rowena when we all decided not to tell you."

"You all decided!" Sam turned to his mother who stared back at him defiantly. "Did you know?"

"Yes," she said. "And I knew it wasn't worth the risk. I'm not risking you on a plan that would only work with a wish and a prayer. Dean wouldn't want that."

"Dean wants his life back."

"Not at the cost of yours," Castiel said.

Sam pushed his hair back from his face and tried to calm himself. They were wrong to keep this from him, but it was too late to change that now. They had what they needed, finally, and he wasn't going to waste time hanging around arguing when he could be getting Dean back."

"What do we need for the spell?" he asked.

"Things I am sure we have in the stores here and my own personal stash. The Men of Letters kept a good stock of the exotic stuff, and I am always prepared. The one thing that may complicate things a little is grace…" She looked at Castiel. "Got any going spare?"

"Of course," Castiel said. "I can give you it all."

"There's no need for that," Rowena said. "We just need enough to power Sam up. You won't be your best self until it replenishes, but you won't be human. Which, as I hear, is a good thing as you made a bit of a hash of that according to Fergus."

Castiel frowned. "I don't think I was that bad at it."

"Didn't you lose your virginity and then get killed by a reaper?" Rowena asked. "Not to mention your stint as a bag lady."

"I was a man," Castiel said. "And that was nothing to be ashamed of."

"Enough!" Sam snapped. "Rowena, get what we need. Cas, give her the grace."

"Wait!" Mary said quickly, holding up a hand. "What do you mean power Sam up?"

"He's human," Rowena said. "If he goes to Michael with the strength he has now, he will be crushed like a bug. The grace will give him a little boost, and it will allow me to use him as a conduit to the spell. Blood will reach blood. Grace will reach grace. It's quite poetic really."

"I am no match for an archangel though," Castiel said. "Even with my wings _and_ grace. Raphael and Lucifer both blasted me to atoms."

"Then we better hope that doesn't happen again," Rowena said.

"I don't like this," Mary said. "We're relying on Sam being boosted with grace that sounds pretty weak to me, and Michael not exploding him as soon as he sees him."

"Dean won't let him kill me," Sam said.

"Dean might not have—" Castiel started, breaking off when Sam held up a hand.

"He _won't_ let him," Sam said confidently. "He would never do that."

"Like you would never hurt Kevin?"

Sam glared at him. "Screw you, Cas. Get the stuff, Rowena. We're doing this now."

She nodded. "Okay. You're going to need something to inject the grace into your veins, something sturdy, and a map."

Sam walked from the room and strode to the small clinic to get the syringe stored there. It was in the cupboard, where he'd put it after Castiel had tried to draw Gadreel's grace from him to do the tracking spell. He opened the box and saw the stainless-steel chamber and wicked looking needle and shivered a moment, remembering the pain of the grace extraction. He quickly pulled himself together and snapped the box closed. He left the room, but instead of returning immediately to the library, he detoured to his bedroom. He suspected getting away from the bunker without company was going to be a problem, so he needed something to lock down his mother and Castiel. He was sure Rowena would let him go without a fuss. She may like him, but she was a survivor above all, and just because Michael wasn't destined to kill her, Sam was, she wasn't going to risk being immolated by another archangel.

He pocketed the two sets of handcuffs and rushed back into the library where Mary and Castiel were waiting with Bobby who was looking bleary eyed but defiant.

"I heard the ruckus and wondered what was going on," he said in answer to Sam's questioning look. "Mary says you have a plan for Michael."

"For Dean," Sam corrected.

"Same thing, ain't it," Bobby said.

Sam ignored him, setting the box down on the table as Rowena came in with a tray of jars and a copper bowl. Someone had rolled out a map on the table and weighted it with empty beer bottles. Sam took the syringe out and turned to Castiel. "Ready?"

Castiel drew his blade and brought it to his neck.

"Wait a minute," Rowena said. "That's the last ingredient, and the fresher it is, the better."

She began to pour and shake ingredients into the bowl, muttering in Latin. Smoke began to rise, and a purple light glowed.

"Okay, Castiel," she said, holding up a glass vial. "It's your turn."

Castiel drew his blade across his throat, creating a shallow cut that grace bled from. Sam held the vial he'd taken from Rowena under it, and the grace flowed inside, filling it with light. Castiel wiped a hand across his throat and then frowned as the cut remained.

"No healing right now," Rowena said. "You'll need to recharge before you can do that."

"You'll be fine," Sam said dismissively, handing Rowena the grace who tipped it over the bowl. It flowed inside, and the purple light was replaced with a blue-white light that illuminated the ebbing liquid beneath.

"Give me some blood, Sam," she said. "I need it before it gets mixed with the grace."

Sam took Castiel's blade and cut across his palm and held his hand out to her. She squeezed it hard and lifted it over the map. Blood dripped down and seemed to dilute as it spread over the paper.

"Ready?" she asked and then hesitated. "I feel it's time to remind you all that spells from this book come with consequences. Sometimes cosmic ones. I'm sure we all remember the Darkness."

"Cosmic consequences?" Bobby asked. "And you all knew that before you started?"

"It doesn't matter," Sam said. "Get on with it."

He opened the box and handed her the syringe. She took it and held her free hand over the bowl and muttered something. The light surged, and she quickly dipped the needle into the bowl and drew the contents up.

"Need help?" Rowena asked.

"I'm good," Sam said.

He took the syringe back from her and jabbed it into his neck. It hurt, but he ignored the pain and pushed it deeper and then then depressed the plunger. He felt the burn like acid in his veins as it spread. He also felt power, the same feeling he'd had when he used to drink demon blood. That had always felt wrong though, while this felt right. He dropped the syringe and flexed his hands. The cut across his palm glowed and the wound healed with a faint sting.

"Grace," Sam muttered. "How am I going to get blood if I'm healing like that?"

"You'll just have to make it a little deeper and move a little faster," Rowena said, unconcerned. "Are you ready to find your brother?"

"I just need a moment," Sam said. "Mom, Cas, come with me. There's something I need to tell you."

They followed him into the war room and Sam turned to face them. He took a breath and then struck out with his fist and slammed it into Castiel's temple. The angel frowned, and Sam though he hadn't done it hard enough, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped hard to the ground.

"What the hell?" Mary started, but Sam was already sweeping a leg under her and catching her before she fell. He lowered her to the floor and quickly snapped a handcuff around her wrist and the table leg screwed into the floor.

Mary cried out in disbelief. "Sam! Get this off me now! What are you doing?"

"You would have tried to follow me," Sam said.

"I wouldn't have followed! I would have come! I _will_ come."

"Exactly," Sam said. "Can't risk that."

He moved away and dragged Castiel to the opposite table leg and cuffed his hand to it. He turned around and saw Bobby standing in front of him, glowering. "You planning on cuffing me to a table, too?" he asked.

"No," Sam said.

"Good," Bobby said. "Because I wouldn't want to have to hurt you."

"Me either." Sam lied as he threw a punch that knocked Bobby on his ass and his eyes unfocused and closed. "I don't have any cuffs left."

He walked back into the library where Rowena was watching him with amusement. "That was impressive," she said. "Castiel was easy, the powered down kitten that he is, but your mother…"

"She didn't think I'd do it to her," Sam said.

"She would have kicked your ass otherwise," Rowena said.

"I know," Sam said. "But I'm not letting them put themselves in danger. Now, find Dean."

She lit a match and dropped it down over the map. "Viam invenire!" Purple flames ignited the blood as if it was fuel and licked over the map, charring the paper. It concentrated on one spot and then the flames died. Rowena picked up the piece that remained and examined it. She gave to Sam and he saw that the charred piece was marking Duluth, Minnesota. He balled it up and put it in his pocket.

"You can't nail it down better than that?" he asked.

"I don't need to. You'll feel it when you're close. Just let instinct take over and it will lead you to him."

"Okay. I will. Don't tell them where I'm going," Sam commanded, walking away from her. Mary was shouting behind him, but Sam blocked out the noise. She would forgive him when he brought Dean back.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Rowena called after him.

Sam looked back over his shoulder. "Thank you, Rowena."

"That's nice to hear, but not what I meant. When you have Dean, pray to Castiel. I'll have the ingredients ready, and when I feel the connection made, I can do the spell. Remember, your blood has to touch his. He needs to be wounded."

"No problem," Sam said, picking something up off the shelf and slipped it from his sheath.

"Is that the archangel blade?" Rowena asked.

"Yes."

"You know you can't kill him with that. You're not an archangel."

"That's not why I can't kill him," Sam said, recoiling from the idea. "I just need his blood."

And he would get it. He could feel Castiel's strength flowing through him, and the conviction of doing the right thing.

He was getting Dean back.

* * *

Sam stood outside the church and took a deep breath. Rowena's blood spell had led him this far, now he needed to go in and find his brother.

The long drive had given him time to think of the problem from every angle, and he'd thought he was ready, but now he was at the point of facing Michael, he was second guessing himself. What if he did something wrong? If he failed to free Dean now, how would they do it? If they failed now, would they get a second chance, or would he be lost to them forever? It felt like everything relied on this plan, this spell, and if it went wrong, Michael would have time to prepare for them to try again. He would know their plan.

Sam braced himself and pushed open the door. The smell of rotting flesh hit him like a punch, and he swallowed reflexively but continued into the church. There was a pile of rotting bodies in the corner of the room, and Michael stood opposite him, his arms crossed over his chest and a small smile curling his lips that did not reach his eyes.

He had changed out of Dean's own clothes into a brown coat over a vest with a patterned red tie. It wasn't just his clothes that stole any sign of Dean, though, it was his expression, the look in his eyes. He seemed both wryly amused and scathing. His stance was completely relaxed.

"I felt you coming," Michael said. "Though I was expecting Castiel. You took something from him, didn't you? Really, Sam, what did you _do_ to yourself?"

"What I had to do," Sam said.

"Why? You can't think you're going to beat me, even with the grace running through your veins. It's not strong enough; it wouldn't be even if it was still in its original source. You're only human with no powers to stop me doing what I please."

"I'm a Winchester," Sam said defiantly.

"You say that as if it should mean something to me. I've heard the stories of you from demons and angels. I know that you have done things in this world, but to me you are an ant. You know what happens to ants, don't you? They're crushed underfoot. I let you live this long thanks to your brother. I could have killed you in that church, but I decided not to. I thought I owed your brother something for giving himself over to me. But gratitude only stretches so far."

Sam withdrew the archangel blade from his inner pocket and held it up. "You won't kill me."

"Because you're armed? Believe me, that just makes it more interesting. You can't kill me, you're not an archangel. That blade is nothing in your hands."

"You won't kill me because Dean won't let you."

Michael chuckled. "You say that like he has a choice in the matter. I am in control here. Dean is… distracted."

"What have you done to him?"

Michael smiled. "It's enough to me that you will never know."

"I will. I am going to save him."

"I have already done that," Michael said. "He was the first one saved. He is my vessel now, the closest he can come to divine. He is a part of me."

"He's nothing to you."

Michael raised his hand, fingers poised to snap, and Sam felt a thrill of fear that he was going to fail. He pushed it down and looked Michael in the eyes, and the archangel smiled. "Perhaps not that. I think a more hands-on kill would be better for you."

He stalked toward Sam, and Sam gripped the blade tighter in his hand. He thought he had one chance to draw blood before Michael overpowered him, and he was going to take it. When Michael was close enough, he swiped the blade through the air and caught a glancing blow on Michael's left hand. Blood and grace bled from the wound, and Michael looked annoyed.

Sam slashed again, but Michael caught Sam's wrist and twisted it, making Sam drop the blade. Michael released him and laughed. "Feel better for your little show of defiance, ant?" He shook his hand and specks of blood flew from it. Sam felt a wave of hope as he realized Michael wasn't healing. He just needed his own blood now. Without the blade, he had no way to get it for himself, he needed to wait until Michael drew it.

"Get out of my brother!"

"No," Michael said simply, drawing back a fist. He landed a blow to Sam's jaw that felt like it shattered it.

Sam groaned in pain, and Michael smiled widely. The pain in his jaw faded, replaced by the stinging warmth of grace, and Sam steadied himself on his feet. "You'll have to try harder than that," he mocked, needing to anger Michael so he drew blood.

Michael punched him in the gut, and Sam was thrown back onto the dirty floor. The breath was knocked out of his lungs, and for a moment he gasped and swallowed air before his muscles unlocked and he sucked in a noisy breath.

"Get out of him," he rasped.

"No," Michael said again, bending and picking up the archangel blade. He lifted it and examined the blood Sam had drawn on the tip, and then turned it down again and leered down at Sam. "Say goodbye to your brother."

Sam braced himself for the pain, knowing what he had to do and willing it to work. Michel drove the blade down into Sam's abdomen and Sam gripped it, feeling it slice through his palm as Michael withdrew it. The pain in his abdomen was almost completely overwhelming, but Sam was focused on his task. He clenched his fist to make the blood flow faster before the grace healed it, feeling it dripping down his wrist, and then grabbed at Michael's hand. "Castiel, now!" he bellowed.

Michael frowned down at him for a moment, and then his eyes widened and he tried to pull his hand free from Sam's. He couldn't do it though, and Sam knew it was not his grip that held him there. He could feel the power pulsing though him. It was Rowena's spell.

"What are you doing?" Michael asked, his eyes horrified as he tried and failed to break Sam's hold on him.

"Saving my brother," Sam said with a grim smile, knowing it had worked, that he had saved his brother.

He felt the power rush through him like fire and into Michael. He shouted his brother's name as Michael's head flew back and a stream of grace poured from his mouth, filling the air and blinding Sam. He covered his eyes with his arm and fell back against the floor. For a moment he could only hear a high-pitched whine and then Dean spoke, and Sam knew it was really him. "Sammy?"

* * *

 **So… Dean is back! It's time for hugs and heartfelt family reunions, right? No more drama at all… ;-)**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing the messes I send you and Ncsupnatfan for giving me the feedback that makes the stories cohesive plots instead of the ramblings of a mad woman.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Two**_

Dean felt his head break the water, and he drew in a deep breath of foul-smelling air. His eyes were clouded by the bright light that was rushing past them, and his mind swam as a high-pitched whine filled his ears. He didn't understand what was happening at first. It wasn't until he brought up a hand to cover his eyes and saw it move that he realized it was really him in control of his body again.

He blinked, trying to see through the light. "Sammy?"

He heard a laugh in return. The light withdrew from him and flowed through a broken window, and Dean was able to see Sam scrambling to his feet. Before Dean could draw in a second breath, Sam was dragging him into a tight hug that knocked the little air in him out. Dean gripped him in return, cupping the back of Sam's head, feeling the strong comforting weight of his brother, and he smiled.

After Michael took over, Dean had been shoved underwater, and he'd had no idea what was happening to the world around him. He didn't even know if Sam and the rest of his family were alive or dead. But Sam was here now, in his arms, and Dean had his body back.

He pulled free of Sam's tight hold and looked him in the eyes. "How did you do this? What did it cost?" He needed to know who was going to suffer for this.

Sam waved away his questions as if they were of no consequence. "It's okay."

Dean shook his shoulder. "Dammit, Sam, what did you do?"

"A spell," Sam said. "Rowena did a spell. It wasn't any kind of deal. We're all okay."

Dean stared into his eyes, searching for a lie, and saw none. He held Sam away from him and examined him. His hands and the front of his shirt were bloody and there was a ragged hole in the cloth.

"Sam!" he said weakly. "You're bleeding. Oh, god, what did I do?"

"Not you, Michael," Sam said, pushing away Dean's hands as they reached to lift his shirt. "And the grace will heal it. Look, my hands are healed already. Yours is now, too."

Dean looked at Sam's upraised hands and saw they were bloody but there was no wound. He looked down at his own left palm and saw it was bloody but clear of wounds, too. The stain in Sam's shirt was bigger though, and he was worried. Despite Sam's resistance, he lifted his shirt to see the wound. It looked deep, and the sight of it made Dean feel sick.

"You need a doctor. Where are we? Where's the nearest hospital? I know you checked." That was the kind of thing Sam always checked.

"We're in Duluth, Minnesota, and I don't need a doctor," Sam said. "It's hardly bleeding any more. Let's just get out of here. The Impala is outside, and our spare duffels are in the trunk. I need to get out of these bloody clothes, and you need out of that suit."

Dean looked down and noticed his clothes for the first time. Michael had dressed him in a suit and coat with a hideous tie that seemed to be constricting his throat. He quickly tugged it off and shrugged off the coat. He threw them away from him onto the floor.

"Better," Sam said. "But the whole thing has to go. Come on."

He picked up the archangel blade and strode away to the door, and Dean followed him into the fresh, cool air. The Impala was parked at an angle, as if Sam had skidded to a halt without care. Sam threw him the keys and Dean caught them as Sam climbed into the shotgun seat. Dean got in behind the wheel and said, "So, where is the hospital?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to a hospital. I'm fine. The grace will fix it. It just needs a little time. It barely hurts at all."

Dean turned in his seat to look at him. "What grace? Do you mean Cas?"

"In a way."

"Sam…" Dean said in a warning tone.

"I needed grace for the spell," Sam said. "It healed my hands and it will heal the rest in time. It's obviously not working full power in me."

"We'll get you to Cas," Dean said decisively. "He can take care of it. Where is he anyway?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Where do you think we got the grace from, Dean? Cas is running on empty right now. He can't heal anything. And where he is… I don't know. They probably got free by now."

"Got free?"

Sam grinned. "I handcuffed Mom to the map table, Cas, too, and knocked Bobby out." He went on in response to Dean's incredulous look. "I couldn't let them come. They could have gotten hurt."

"Like you!" Dean said bitterly.

Sam shook his head. "I knew Michael wouldn't kill me. You wouldn't have let him."

Dean turned away. Sam's absolute faith in him was misplaced. He hadn't known what was happening. If Michael had aimed for Sam's heart, he would have been killed and Dean wouldn't have been able to do a thing to stop it. He wouldn't have even known. It looked like Michael had stabbed Sam, and yet he believed Michael couldn't have killed him. He was wrong.

Sam took a pack of towelettes from the glovebox and cleaned up his hands. He tossed them to Dean and Dean wiped the blood from his hands. He started the engine and reversed around to face the road.

"Take a right and get onto Route 35," Sam said. "There's a motel about two miles down. We should call Mom too. She needs to know you're back."

Dean patted his pockets. "Michael must have dumped my cell."

Sam pulled out his own and dialed a number then put it on speaker and held it up between them. Dean took them right and followed the road toward Route 35 as it rang. When it was answered, there was the sound of an engine in the background and Mary's voice was terse. "Sam! Are you okay? Did you find him?"

Sam gave Dean a pointed look, and Dean cleared his throat and said, "He found me, Mom."

"Dean! Oh, thank god. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Dean said, though he didn't think he would feel fine for a long time after everything that had happened.

"Is Sam?"

Sam narrowed his eyes and Dean said, "He got a little banged up by Michael, but he says he's okay."

"I _am_ okay!" Sam said loudly.

"Do you believe him?" Mary asked.

"Trying to," Dean said honestly.

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. "I'll be fine, Mom. The grace is fixing it. Where are you?"

"I'm on my way to you with Cas," she said. "We're about an hour out."

"Meet us at the Voyager Inn," Sam said. "It's on Route 35."

"I'll find it," Mary said. "You two take care of each other. I'll see you soon."

"Okay, Mom," Sam said.

"I love you boys," she said.

"We love you, too, Mom," Dean said seriously.

They exchanged goodbyes and Sam put the phone back in his pocket. He relaxed back in his seat and said, "The motel is just up ahead."

Dean spotted the lit sign advertising free cable and he turned on the blinker then pulled them into the parking lot and pulled into a spot. Sam handed him his wallet and said, "You better check us in. I look a little too macabre to go unnoticed."

The easy way he said it, as if the fact his shirt was coated with his own blood from the damage Dean had done to him was nothing, made Dean scowl. He was taking all this way too lightly.

He got out of the car and walked to the office. There was no one at the desk, and he rang an old-fashioned bell. There was grumbling and then an overweight man appeared through a door behind the desk. He approached the desk and leaned heavily against it. "Welcome to the Voyager Inn," he said in a bored tone. "How may I help you?"

"I need two rooms—a single and a double," Dean said. "One night."

He nodded and drew a book towards him. He pushed it over the desk and said, "Fill that out."

Dean took the pen and began to fill in fictional details for them. When each box was filled, he handed over the credit card from Sam's wallet and waited as the man ran it through the system. "It'll be $100 even for the night," he said. "You've got thirteen and fourteen. They're on the end. Thirteen's the double."

"Yeah, fine," Dean said distractedly. "Thanks."

He signed and took his credit card back and the two room cards. He was turning to leave when the man said. "Is that blood on your jacket?"

Dean looked down and saw a patch of dark red on his jacket. It must have transferred from Sam when he'd hugged him.

"I spilled my drink," Dean said.

"Looks like blood to me."

"It isn't," Dean said tersely. "Thanks for your help."

He rushed out of the office and back to the car where Sam was sitting with his head tilted back and a hand on the bloodiest part of his shirt. Dean yanked open the door and said, "You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam said, quickly straightening up. "You know grace feels weird. It's healing slowly so it feels weird for longer. I'm fine."

"Fine?" Dean said irritably. "That word is losing all meaning coming from you."

Sam laughed. "What would you prefer?"

"I would prefer that you go to a hospital," Dean said. "But if you're going to keep being a stubborn ass about that, I'm checking your wound as soon as we get in our room."

"Sure, fine," Sam said lazily. "Did you get one?"

"Yeah, it's on the end of the block."

Sam climbed out and went to the trunk. Dean unlocked it and took out their bags and the med kit they kept there. Sam reached for the bag and wavered.

"Seriously, Sam?" Dean said. "You need a doctor."

"I need you to stop stressing," Sam said. "It's just the blood I lost. You know grace can't fix that. Get me juice and a cookie and it'll be good."

Sighing, Dean shouldered his bag and handed Sam the keycard. "We've got thirteen. Get your ass in there."

Sam walked away slowly, and Dean went to the vending machines outside the office. He got two cans of soda and some candy bars. Sam might have been joking about needing juice and a cookie, but Dean was going to get some sugar into him.

He went to the room and followed Sam inside before letting the door swing closed behind him. "Okay," he said. "Sit your ass down and let me look at what I did to you."

"Michael did it," Sam said firmly. He took off his shirt though and sat down on the edge of the bed, waiting for Dean with an air of obvious impatience.

Dean went into the bathroom and soaked the edge of a thin towel in cool water then carried it back to the room and pushed Sam so he was leaning back on his elbows. He gently scrubbed at the drying blood around the wound and then wiped it clean with an alcohol wipe. Sam didn't even flinch as he touched the wound.

"It is healing," Dean conceded. "I don't think you're going to need stitches anyway."

"Told ya," Sam said happily.

Dean dried the area and covered it with a dressing. "I still think you should get it checked out. Looks like it was deep."

Sam sat up. "Dean, I know it's probably easier for you to displace your worry onto me instead of talking about what happened to you, but I'm fine."

"Who's displacing?" Dean asked, a bite to his tone.

"You are," Sam said easily. "And I get it, but you can stop now. I'm fine."

Dean picked up a can of soda from the table and said, "Shut up and drink this."

Sam grinned as he popped the top and took a swig. Dean was surprised at his easy acceptance, and then he realized Sam had gotten exactly what he'd wanted. Dean had dropped the subject of getting him checked out and was now distracted by avoiding the topic Sam knew he would hate to discuss.

"Bitch," he muttered.

Sam laughed. "Jerk." He took another swig of his soda. "It's not that late. Want to go get a drink? Mom and Cas won't be here for a while."

"No, I want you to lie down and rest your penetrating gut wound," Dean said.

"Probably a good idea," Sam said taking another drink.

Dean sat on a chair opposite him and watched Sam as he rooted in his duffel and took out a clean t-shirt. He pulled it on, concealing the dressing on his stomach, and Dean surveyed him. He was a little pale, but he had lost blood so that was explained. His hands were steady though and his eyes alert and bright. Dean thought he probably really was okay, though he wanted the full story of how the spell had worked, to make sure there really wasn't anything they were missing about consequences.

"So, what happened while I was gone?" he asked. "Apart from the fact you forgot how to shave?"

Sam rubbed his chin and grinned. "A lot of craziness to be honest. Nick is alive."

Dean gaped. "Lucifer's vessel Nick?"

"Yeah. We were in the church, just after Michael took off, and he woke up in a hell of a lot of pain. I thought it was Lucifer at first, and wasn't sure whether to start stabbing or running, but Jack could see that it wasn't an angel. It looks like the archangel blade kills the angel but not the vessel. He was banged up, but he's healing well."

"Where is he?"

"In the dungeon. He's not chained up, but we all felt better with him somewhere we could lock him down if we needed to. We should probably get back there actually; no one else seems ready to go near him yet. They still see Lucifer."

"And you?" Dean was surprised Sam was able to be around him after everything Lucifer had put him through. He would have expected Sam to be the last person to want to face him.

Sam shrugged. "Someone had to help him. And what happened wasn't really Nick's fault. He says he was desperate when Lucifer came to him, his family had been murdered, and all he wanted was a chance for revenge. He thought Lucifer would give that to him. I can relate. I did some pretty awful stuff looking for revenge."

Dean understood what he was referring to, and neither of them needed to say more.

"What about Bobby? How's he doing? And Charlie?"

"Rowena and Charlie's road trip was cut short by the Michael problem, so Charlie took off on her own. I think the novelty of an intact world is going to take time to wear off for her. Bobby is pretty much sticking with Mom. They were both working on the Michael problem with me. He takes care of the rest of his people, too. They're all set up in the Rodeway in town. Some of them come by the bunker in the day, and I've spoken to some of them about starting to hunt. They seem to want to do something more than just sit around Lebanon, but I've not really started anything with them yet. I'll get on it when we get back."

"You think that's a good idea?" Dean asked. "Just because they lived in crazy town, doesn't mean they're cut out for hunting."

"They've lived through a war, Dean. They're more prepared for it than anyone I know starting out. I don't think they can just step back and build a regular life. They need to keep fighting." Sam yawned widely and quickly apologized. "You'll see what I mean when you talk to them." He touched a hand to his stomach and winced.

"Sam…" Dean started.

"It's nothing," Sam said quickly. "Just the grace." He yawned again.

Dean stood up and plucked the can out of Sam's hand. "Okay, you're sleeping now."

"You seriously expect me to be able to sleep? Dean, I just got you back. We need to talk."

Dean saw his genuine fear, and he thought he understood. "I'm not going anywhere, Sammy," he said. "I'll be here in the morning, and we can talk all you like then. Right now, you're going to sleep and heal."

Sam looked defiant for a moment, and then he sighed and swung his legs up on the bed and settled on his side, facing away from Dean. Dean tugged the blankets out from under him with effort and threw them over him.

"Sleep," he said. "I'm sure Mom will wake you up when she gets here. She's going to be pissed that you handcuffed her to a table."

Sam laughed softly. "Yeah. Maybe tell her to let me sleep. She can rake me over the coals tomorrow."

"Coward," Dean said.

"Yeah," Sam said lazily. "I am."

Dean patted his back and said, "You're really not, Sam. It took guts to do what you did, coming after Michael like that. He could have killed you."

"You did it for me," Sam said tiredly. "And I trusted you. He couldn't have killed me."

Dean closed his eyes, glad Sam couldn't see his pained face. He thought they'd gotten off lucky with Sam's wound. If he didn't have the grace in him, Sam would be dead. As it was, Dean was going to have nightmares about what could have happened—more nightmares to add to the many he already had.

"I'm going to get some air," he told Sam.

Sam didn't respond, and Dean leaned over him to see he was already asleep.

"Told ya," Dean said quietly, turning on the dim lamp beside the bed and flipping off the overhead light. He quickly changed out of Michael's suit and into his own jeans and shirt, pausing when he saw the scar on his upper arm. He hadn't had it when Michael had taken him over, so that meant it was Michael's injury. He knew he needed to find out what had happened, so they could make a plan for what happened next—if Michael could be hurt with a weapon other than the archangel blade it was going to be vital to stopping him.

He slipped out into the cool night air, shivering. He didn't have a jacket, but he didn't care. The fact he could even feel the cold felt good. It was infinitely better than the icy water that had drowned him while Michael had been in charge.

He looked up at the sky, seeing the few stars that were creeping through the cloudy sky. He'd thought he would never see stars again, or his brother and family. He had been more scared of that than the water that constantly drowned him, and it felt like a miracle that he was back, but he hated that it had almost come at the cost of Sam's life. If Michael had aimed differently, if he's gone for the quick kill instead of the hurt, Dean would have stayed trapped and Sam would have died. The thought made him shudder.

Sam had saved him, and they were together and almost okay—Sam just needed time to heal—but it was how close it had come to ending differently that scared Dean. Luck had gotten them both out of it alive, but there was a time when their luck had to run out.

* * *

 **So… Sam needs time to heal. It's going to be simple. No problems there, right? Think how boring it would be if it was that easy. Stick with me. The drama is coming.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing and polishing this up for me. Thank you Jenjoremy for pre-reading and giving great feedback. Thank you all for reading xxx**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Three**_

Mary and Castiel arrived only thirty minutes after Sam had fallen asleep, and Dean knew Mary must have pushed her engine to the limits to reach them so quickly. She slammed to a stop beside the Impala and flew from the car and at him. He just had times to bring up his arms to catch her when she collided hard with him and squeezed him tightly.

"Dean," she said in a kind of moan. "I thought…"

Dean hugged her back, taking comfort and giving reassurance in the embrace. "I'm here," he said. "It's over."

That was a lie, and they both knew it. Dean was back, but Michael was still out there, and he had to be stopped. Dean was back, but their fight was just starting.

Mary pulled back and cupped his face in her hands. "How do you feel?"

"Like myself again."

She smiled. "I brought you something." She went back to the car, wiping at her face, and Castiel approached.

"Dean…" He sounded as shocked to see him as Dean felt to be back. Dean supposed he hadn't really believed it until he'd seen him. Dean could relate. He'd felt the same when Castiel had come back from the Empty.

Dean hugged him and Castiel gripped him back with less strength than usual. Dean figured the weakness was due to the fact that Sam had taken some of his grace for the spell. They parted as Mary approached and held up a bottle of whiskey. "I thought we could all use some of this. Where's Sam?"

"Sleeping," Dean said. "He needed it. Want me to wake him? I warned him you were going to be pissed about the handcuffs thing."

"I am," she said seriously. "But he can sleep. He needs it. He's barely rested at all since you disappeared. Castiel put him out a couple times, though he doesn't know it. He'd be pissed if he did."

Dean wanted to know more about what had happened to Sam while he'd been gone, but he decided it was a conversation better had when they were inside with drinks in their hands. He took out the keycard to the second room and unlocked the door. Mary and Castiel went in and Dean glanced back at his own room before following, wondering if he should check on Sam first. He decided against it. He didn't want to wake Sam while he was getting some rest, especially as Mary said he hadn't gotten much of it lately.

He clicked the door closed behind him and went to the small kitchenette to get them mugs. "You drinking, Cas?" he asked.

"There seems little point," Castiel said. "Even with depleted grace, it's not going to taste as it should." He sounded disappointed.

Dean carried the mugs to his mother who poured a measure into each, then he carried his to the bed and perched on the edge, leaving Mary and Castiel the chairs.

"How is Sam?" Mary asked.

"He's okay," Dean said. "He got banged up by Michael, but the grace is fixing it. How's he really been while I was gone though?"

"Not good," Castiel said. "Your mother is right when she says he's not been sleeping. He has been completely absorbed in what had to be done. When he was not searching for a way to save you, he was taking care of Nick and Jack."

"Yeah, he told me about Nick. That's a head trip in itself. What's he like?"

Mary shrugged. "I've only been close enough to help Sam dress his wounds before he was awake, and that was bad enough. I haven't been near him since he woke up. It's too weird. Sam's been taking care of him. Sam says he's a mess though, traumatized."

"I'm sure you can understand that," Castiel said pointedly.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Something you want to ask, Cas?"

"Yes," Castiel said bluntly. "What happened to you when Michael was in control?"

Dean considered the answer carefully. He didn't want to lie to them as he felt like he did too much of that already, but they didn't need to know the truth. It wouldn't help any of them. "It was like Sam said Gadreel did to him. I thought I was in the bunker with you all. It felt real. I had no idea anything was wrong until I woke up with Sam there. To be honest, I'm just glad he didn't leave me a drooling mess like Raphael did his vessel."

"That is good," Castiel stated. "And unexpected. With everything we learned of Michael in that world, I thought things would have been much more unpleasant for you."

Dean forced a smile. "Me too, but I'm not complaining."

"Of course not," Mary said. "We're all glad it wasn't worse."

"What about Jack?" Dean asked. "How's he doing?"

Mary and Castiel exchanged a glance and Mary said, "Not well. Bobby has offered to train him how to fight, but he's really struggling without his powers. He's never been without them in his life. It's an adjustment, and I think we've let him down. Sam tried to help him, but there's only so much time he could spare, and we were all consumed with getting you back. I think now that you're back it will be easier. We can all spend time with him."

"It will be," Dean said confidently, though he was worried it wasn't going to be that simple. He might be back, but Michael was still out there, and he could get another, weaker vessel like Lucifer did with Nick. If he had a body again to start calling the shots with, they were in for a world of hurt.

"What about this spell?" he asked. "Where did it come from?"

"The Book of the Damned," Mary said bitterly, as if the words left a bad taste in her mouth.

Dean's heart sank. "The cosmic consequences spell book?"

Mary nodded.

Dean cursed. "That's awesome." He glared at Castiel. "You let him do that, after what happened with Amara?"

"I did," Castiel said, unashamedly. "It was needed. And Rowena has used spells from the book since Amara, and there were no consequences for them. I believed it was worth the risk, and so did Sam."

Dean knocked back his whiskey and held out his mug for Mary to pour him another. She took it and returned it with a generous measure.

He could understand Sam using the book to save him, as that was what they did, made stupid choices for each other, but he would have expected Castiel to have more sense. There might not just be Michael to deal with now. There might be a cosmic level price for the spell as well. Dean was frustrated with them all for making that choice.

"It was more than just you, Dean," Castiel said. "In his vessel, Michael was a great threat. We have bought ourselves some time by expelling him."

"And if he gets a vessel like Lucifer got Nick?"

"It would be hard for him. He would need a very strong vessel, and there are only so many available, and even fewer that are willing. The fall took many vessels out of circulation."

Dean tried to feel comforted, but he couldn't manage it.

"We'll deal with it, Dean," Mary said. "Now we have you, too, we can work together to find a way."

Dean nodded, but he knew that she didn't really understand what could come for them. She'd never lived through an apocalypse before. She'd seen what Michael had done to his world, and she'd been with Jack when he was plotting to kill him, but that was only to stop him after the fact. It had been too late to save the already ruined place. She'd never fought through a battle to save a world. Dean, Sam and Castiel had, more than once, and they knew what it could cost them.

"How is Sam really now?" Castiel asked. "He obviously got the blood for the spell, but how did he do it?"

"It looked like he'd slashed his hands from the blood on them, but they were healed pretty quick. He got a little more banged up, but the grace is doing the job."

"Banged up how?" Mary asked. "What did Michael do to him?"

Dean winced, not wanting to admit what his own hands had done to Sam, especially if they had believed, like Sam, that he would have saved him from Michael.

"What, Dean?" Mary asked, her tone concerned now.

"Michael stabbed him," Dean said. "He has a wound in his gut. It was nearly healed though when I checked it. His worst problem was the blood he'd lost. He said he was okay though." He couldn't hide the hint of self-defense in his voice.

Mary looked horrified. "He was stabbed!"

Castiel reached across the table and touched her arm. "He has almost all of my grace in him. He is probably healed already. The blood loss is the only thing it can't help, but his body can deal with that with time and rest."

Mary didn't look reassured. She got to her feet and held out her hand. "I need the key for your room. I want to check on him."

"I'm coming too," Dean said, infected by her worry now. "Cas, you can still sense him like you did before, right, even without all your grace?"

"Yes. I will check him for you."

Dean got quickly to his feet and set down his mug of undrunk whiskey and opened the door. He strode quickly to his and Sam's room and unlocked the door. Sam was sleeping in the same position he had been before, though his hand had fallen from under the blankets.

Dean rounded the bed, feeling better now he saw Sam resting peacefully, and took Sam's hand to tuck it back under the blankets. He froze when he felt how cold and clammy it was.

"Cas?" He looked up and saw Castiel's eyes were wide and his expression horrified. "Cas!"

Castiel quickly came to the bed and reached for Sam. He touched his hand to his temple and concentrated, but there was no glow under his palm as Dean was expecting.

"Castiel!" Mary snapped. "What is it?"

"Call an ambulance," Castiel said tersely.

Dean pressed his fingers to Sam's neck, feeling for his pulse. At first, he couldn't find it, and he panicked, and then he registered the weak and rapid thrum under his fingertips.

Dean looked up and saw Mary standing with her phone pressed to her ear, her own face pale as she gave the address of the motel. The operator obviously said something as she looked up from Sam and fixed her eyes on Dean. "How is he?"

"His pulse is fast and weak," Dean said, pinching Sam's earlobe hard and getting no reaction. "And he's unconscious and not responding to pain. Cas?"

"He has an internal bleed," Castiel said worriedly.

Mary recounted what Dean had told her and then said, "We think he's bleeding inside." She paused and listened for a moment. "Yes, we'll wait for them." She ended the call and said. "Someone needs to be outside to show them where we are."

"I'll go," Castiel said, rushing from the room.

Mary approached the bed slowly, as if scared to get too close, and said cautiously, "Sam, wake up now."

Dean knew he couldn't, and the knowledge made him feel sick. He rolled Sam onto his back and lifted his t-shirt to see his stomach. It was distended and hard, and Dean swallowed hard as he knew what that meant. It wasn't just an internal bleed as Castiel said; it was a big one. He peeled back the dressing over Sam's wound and saw that it looked almost healed now, just the barest sliver of open skin. What was happening to him was all happening on the inside.

Dean covered him with the blanket again to warm his chilled skin. Mary came around the bed to him and pulled off the blankets from the second bed and laid them over Sam, tucking them around his shoulders.

She touched Sam's cheek and winced. Dean checked his pulse again, and it was still rapid. With his hand close to Sam, he felt the change the same moment Mary said, "Dean!"

Sam's breaths, that had been steady and deep, were weakening and becoming shallow. He quickly tilted Sam's head back to open his airway fully and said, "Take it easy, Sammy."

"Where's that damn ambulance?" Mary asked.

"Maybe go and wait with Cas," Dean said, knowing she needed the space from what was happening. When she looked hesitant, he said, "Go, Mom. They need to know where we are as soon as they get here," even though he knew Castiel was more than capable of doing that. She rushed from the room and Dean leaned close to Sam's ear. "Don't you dare do this to me, Sam. You _will_ hold on. You don't get to give up."

He knew he could have been imagining it, but he thought Sam's breaths were stronger. He held his fingers to Sam's throat, reassuring himself that Sam was fighting with the beats against his fingers.

He heard the ambulance sirens in the distance and said, "They're here, Sammy. They're going to fix you right up."

The sirens cut off, but the room was filled with rolling blue light through the thin curtain at the window. Mary rushed in first, saying, "He's here!" and two male EMT's followed her in and came straight to Sam.

One of them went into action at once, snapping on gloves and checking Sam's pulse while the other asked, "Can you tell us what happened?"

"He's bleeding," Dean said. "He got hurt, but he's bleeding inside." He pulled back the blankets and the EMT's practiced eyes found the wound. He pressed his fingers to it, spreading the open skin slightly, and asked. "When did this happen?"

"I'm not sure," Dean lied. "Not long ago. He heals really fast."

The EMT pinched Sam's fingertip and watched at the skin whitened. It seemed to take an age for the skin to pink up again.

"He's bleeding somewhere in his abdomen," he said. "His perfusion is shot. We need to load him up."

He disappeared out the door, and Dean fixed his eyes on the remaining EMT that was checking Sam's pupils, which were dilated. Suddenly, Sam's weak breaths became gasps and he began to shake.

"What's happening?" Mary asked desperately.

"Rich!" the EMT with Sam shouted. "He's going down. We need the backboard!"

The EMT called Rich rushed back into the room with a slatted piece of plastic in his hand and said, "Give us space."

Mary backed away, but Dean was frozen in place. Castiel grabbed his arm and dragged him away to stand at the end of the bed. Dean watched as they slipped the back board under Sam and the second EMT began cardiac massage as Rich took an Ambu-bag and mask from his bag and fitted it over Sam's face. He pumped it twice and then took a box from his bag and set it on the bed. He pulled up Sam's t-shit to his neck and attached large gelled pads to Sam's chest, one on the right and the other on his left side below his heart. He flipped a switch and there was a hum as the machine came to life. Sam's absent heartbeats were recorded as single line on the small screen, and there was a droning sound.

"Ready?" Rich said. "Clear."

They both pulled their hands away from Sam and Rich hit a button on the machine. There was a jolting sound and Sam's back arched.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean said. "You can do it."

"Restarting compressions."

Rich adjusted something on the machine and said, "Clear!"

There was another jolt and Sam arched up again. Dean was dimly aware of his mother's shaking hand in his and the sound of her sobs, but his focus was on Sam and the drone of the absent heartbeat alarm.

"360?" Rich asked.

"Do it."

Rich adjusted the machine, hit the button, and Sam's body arched up again. Dean held his breath, waiting for the sound that he needed, and then it came. Sam's heartbeats recorded on the machine, still too fast, and the second EMT said, "I'll tube him. You get the gurney."

As Rich ran from the room, the EMT took a curved metal tool from his bag and a plastic wrapped tube. He tilted Sam's head back and threaded the metal tool down his throat then eased in the tube. He nodded to himself and took out the tool then added an elastic band to hold the tube in place.

"I've secured his airway," he told Rich as he wheeled in the gurney, "but we need to move fast."

They moved Sam from the bed onto the gurney and wheeled him to the door.

"Who's coming?" Rich called over his shoulder.

"Me!" Dean said, yanking his hand out of his mother's grip. He took the Impala keys from the table and threw them at Castiel. "You drive, meet us there."

"We're going to St Luke's," Rich said. "It's on First Street, drive north and look for the pier."

"I want to come," Mary said.

"There's only room for one in the wagon," Rich said, pushing Sam out of the door without another word.

Leaving his mother and Castiel, Dean ran out after them and waited as they loaded Sam into the ambulance. The second EMT went to the front and Dean followed Rich inside. He sat on the folding seat opposite Sam and watched as Rich attached a cuff to Sam's arm and an oximeter to his fingertip and connected it to a machine.

"Ready?" the EMT called through to the back.

"Yeah, he's in," Rich said.

The sirens started again, and Dean was jostled as they drove onto the road and then sped away from the motel.

He fixed his eyes on Sam's pale face and said, "You hold on, Sammy. Just hold on," willing him to hear and to do as he was told for once.

He listened to the rapid beats as Sam's heartrate was recorded on the box on his legs, and he felt his own racing just as hard. Sam had said he was okay; he had told Dean he was fine. Why had Dean listened? He'd been fooled by the fact that it looked like it was healing. He hadn't considered what could be happening beneath the surface. How could he have let this happen?

Rich picked up a clipboard and said, "Okay, he's called Sam, yes?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, Sammy. He's my brother."

"Last name?"

"Winchester," Dean said automatically, not even thinking of giving an alias.

"Does he have any pre-existing conditions or allergies?"

"No, none. He's really healthy. He was fine before this."

"Can you tell me what happened to him? How did he get hurt?"

"He was trying to save me," Dean said weakly. "He just wanted to help me…"

"Are you hurt?"

Dean shook his head. He was fine, not a scratch on him. It was Sam that was poised on a knife-edge between life and death because he had wanted to help Dean.

He could die, and it would be Dean's fault. It was his hands that had held the blade. It was him that hadn't taken control. Sam had been so sure Dean wouldn't let Michael kill him. He'd been wrong. Dean hadn't been able to save him. And if he died now, if this was too much for him, it would be Dean's fault.

"He only wanted to help…" Dean said quietly.

"We're helping him now." Rich said.

Dean nodded, and tried to feel reassured, but it was impossible when he remembered what had happened to Sam in that motel room. Sam's heart had stopped. He had died. The fact they'd gotten him back didn't change the fact that Dean had killed his brother.

* * *

 **So… Technically I only killed him for a little while. It wasn't my usual death at all. I get credit for restraint, right?**

 **WANTED:** I need your help (again). If any of you have any prompts hanging around or ideas for a story you'd like to see, please let me know. I can't promise to write them all but I need something for a Big Bang I am planning to do — or before if I can't use a prompt the challenge, I'm not sure yet. Either way it works out, if you have an idea you'd like to share, I'd love to see it.

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this mess for me and Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading.**

 **According to Time Hop I posted _The Long Con_ 6 years ago today. It was only my second SPN story and it seemed a long one at 30k back then. My longest story so far is _Knocking on Heaven's Door_ at 160k and _Can't Find My Way Home_ is going to knock that word count out of the way with ease. I missed the anniversary of my first even SPN story as that was a few weeks ago, so I figured I'd celebrate this one. It's been 6 years and I am still writing and posting. That is in a large part down to all of you. I know some of you have been with me since that story to now and I am extra grateful to have you, but I owe a debt to every single one of you. Thanks to your reviews, PMs, faves and alerts, I am still posting and loving what I write. When I struggle with a chapter, I come back and look at the reviews for my old stories and remind myself that there are still people that want to read what my crazy brain comes up with. You make the work a joy - even when it's difficult - and without you all, these stories would exist only in files on my hard drive, written for my own enjoyment. Happy Anniversary _The Long Con_. Here's to another 6 years. Wonder if the show will still be giving me new material to work with then... **

* * *

_**Chapter Four**_

When they reached the hospital, the doors were yanked open and Sam was unloaded by people with yellow cotton robes over their blue scrubs. Rich jumped out after him, reeling off Sam's status and what had happened. They turned the gurney and began to wheel him away, and Dean jumped out of the ambulance and followed then through a set of double doors into a large room where a group of gowned people was waiting.

They transferred Sam onto a stretcher and slid the backboard under him again.

"What have we got?" a woman asked, coming in and pulling a pair of gloves out of a box attached to the wall. She snapped them on and approached Sam.

"Sam Winchester. He's got what looks like a stab wound," Rich said. "It's almost healed, but his abdomen is distended and perfusion degraded, so we think…"

"We have a bleeder," she finished for him, and her commanding tone made Dean think she was the doctor in charge.

"He coded at the scene, but we got him back on third round of defibrillation with 360 joules. BP remains low and oxygen sats are holding in the low nineties."

"Okay," the doctor said. "Let's get an ultrasound in here, set up a central and arterial line. I want O-Neg blood going in and bolus fluids for that blood pressure."

There was a flurry of movement as people began calling for equipment and a man rushed out of the room.

"Handing off?" Rich asked.

"We've got him," the doctor said.

Rich made for the door and then spotted Dean standing alone, watching what was happening to his brother. He came over and placed a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder. "You can't stay here, buddy."

Dean brushed his hand off with a scowl. "I'm staying!"

Rich considered him for a moment and then said, "They're busy taking care of your brother right now. Stay quiet and stay out of their way, and you might be able to. If they try to move you out, let them. The more people dealing with you, the less there are helping Sam, understand?"

Dean nodded. "Got it."

Rich left, and Dean tucked himself into the corner, hoping to go unnoticed by the people around Sam.

"I've got an arterial line in," someone said. "BP 70/30."

"Damn. He's tanking. Where's that blood?"

"Here." A woman rushed in with two bags of blood in her hands.

"Do we have a central line yet?"

"One moment. Here. It's in."

"Hook up that blood. Ultrasound?"

A machine was wheeled in and pushed to the doctor who squeezed gel onto Sam's gut and pressed a wand over the area. Dean could make no sense of the picture displayed on the screen, but the doctor frowned and said, "We've got free blood in here. A lot of it. Someone call down to the OR to tell them we're coming. I'll take it."

"Doctor Simons! He's crashing."

Dean heard it too. Over the noise of the room was the sound of Sam's heart monitor racing too fast.

"Pulseless V-Tac. Stand back. We're going to shock him."

Dean covered his face with his hands and stared with wide eyes at Sam as the jolt lifted his back from the bed.

"No pulse, no movement."

"Again!" Doctor Simons said.

There was the same jolt and thump as Sam flopped back onto the cot, and someone said. "We've got a rhythm."

"It's weak, but it's there," Doctor Simons said. "Prepare him for surgery. I'll meet him down there."

She rushed from the room and people flurried around Sam, hooking up the bag of blood and attaching a machine to the tube in Sam's throat. Dean watched them, standing in his corner, until he was wheeled out at speed and he tried to follow.

A man in a yellow trauma gown stopped him and said, "They're taking him to surgery now. You can't go with him."

"I need to," Dean said. "He's my brother."

"I'm sorry but you can't. Sam is in the best possible hands though. They're doing everything they can for him."

"He died," Dean said weakly. "He keeps dying."

"But he's alive now, and that's what matters. Did you come here alone? Is there anyone I can take you to?"

"Mom and Cas should be here by now."

"Then let's find them."

He tugged Dean's arm, and Dean followed him out of the room into a larger room with cubicles separated by curtains. It was full of people, some lying on beds, bleeding or clutching themselves with grimaces of pain. They passed through that room into an even larger room with rows of chairs housing people, some with the tired expressions of those that had been waiting too long and others looking worried.

Dean looked around and saw his mother and Castiel haranguing the woman at the desk demanding information. Castiel saw Dean first, and he grabbed Mary's arm and turned her from the desk. Looking frustrated, Mary turned to Dean, and her face morphed into stress again.

"Dean!" She rushed at him and put her arms around him. Dean's stayed stiff at his sides. She pulled back and cupped his face in her hands. "How is he?"

"It's bad, Mom," Dean said hoarsely past the lump in his throat. "They had to shock his heart again."

Mary's hands fell to his shoulders as she steadied herself on him.

"Sam is being taken to surgery now," the man that had brought Dean out said. "If you like, I can take you somewhere a little quieter to wait."

"That would be helpful," Castiel said when Dean and Mary failed to respond.

"Come with me."

They followed him through a side door and along a quiet corridor into a larger room with chairs in small groups. There were four people already in there, two couples that were sitting apart from each other, and Dean averted his eyes from them, not wanting to see the same stress on their faces as he knew was on his own.

"I will make sure someone finds you here when there is news," the man said.

"What do we do?" Castiel asked.

"There is paperwork I will bring you," he replied.

Castiel shook his head abruptly. "No, I mean what do we do for Sam?"

The man sighed. "You just have to take care of yourselves right now. Sam is being taken care of by the best possible people."

At least he didn't say pray, Dean thought. He didn't think he could have handled that.

Mary took the seat in the corner and folded over, putting her face in her hands. Castiel sat beside her and placed his hand on her back in a gesture of comfort. Dean knew it should be him helping her, providing comfort, but he couldn't do it. His hands were the ones that had done this to Sam. They had no right being near anyone else he loved.

He sat down, putting two chairs between himself and them, and rubbed his hands over his face. He expected to feel wetness there, but there was none. He hadn't cried. He was glad. He didn't want to even give himself the release of tears. He deserved this pain.

Mary straightened up and Castiel's hand dropped to his lap. He stared down at his knees for a moment and then said, his voice filled with fury, "This is wrong! I should be able to fix it!"

"It's not your fault," Mary said tonelessly. "We needed your grace for the spell."

Dean glanced over his shoulder to see if any of the other people there had heard what she'd said, but they seemed locked inside their own nightmares, oblivious to the newcomers in the room.

"Why did you give him so much?" Dean asked, unable to keep the accusation from his tone.

"I wanted him to be as strong as I could make him," Castiel said. "It was so dangerous what he was attempting. And we needed the connection to the spell to be powerful. I would never have done it if I'd known."

"He should never have done it at all," Dean growled. "It's killed him."

"He's still alive!" Mary said fiercely. "He's still fighting."

"For how long?" Dean asked. "He died in that motel. We were lucky they got him back at all. He almost died in the ER. His heart was going crazy and no blood was getting pumped. That could have killed him, too. He's bleeding so much inside–"

"Stop, Dean!" Castiel said harshly as Mary covered her face and her shoulders shook. "We all know what is happening to him. I know even more than you as I can actually see the damage. I know Sam though. He has faced worse than this before, and he has survived."

"With help!" Dean whispered angrily. "It took Gadreel last time he was like this, and you've got no grace to save him." He jumped to his feet and turned away.

"Where are you going?" Mary asked.

"Away," Dean said. "Call me if there's any news."

He strode away from them along the hall, looking for signs to direct him where he needed to go. He spotted one and hurried his pace. He turned a corner and entered the small chapel with chairs in a line facing the altar. He wasn't alone, but that didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the fact he was heard by the right person.

He sat down and bowed his head, willing the words to be heard by who he needed. "Chuck, it's me, Dean Winchester, and I need your help."

* * *

Dean had gone back to the waiting area after sending his plea to Chuck, and they had sat in relative silence while they waited for news of Sam, Mary and Castiel only speaking to reassure or check the time they'd been waiting. Dean had nothing to say, so he hadn't joined them. He fell into a kind of concentrated stare at his clasped hands, his thoughts in the OR where they were fighting to save Sam.

He was so absorbed that he didn't immediately look up when he heard footsteps approaching. It wasn't until Mary said his name that his attention returned to his surroundings and he saw the doctor from the ER coming towards them.

"You're with Sam Winchester?" she asked.

"Yes," Mary said, jumping to her feet. "How is he?"

"Shall we sit?" The doctor took a chair opposite them and Mary sank down again. "I'm Doctor Simons; I was Sam's surgeon today."

"How is he?" Mary asked again.

"He is holding steady for now," she said. "But he is unwell."

Dean already knew that. Sam was more than unwell. He had died in front of Dean's eyes.

"The injury we found was a penetrating wound to his small intestine that had caused a bleed in the mesenteric artery. The bleed was large, and must have been there for a long time, as the external site was almost healed. He must have been in a lot of pain for a long time before he collapsed."

Dean didn't know how true that was. Sam had seemed uncomfortable, but not really in pain. Had the grace kept that away or was it Sam's unusually high pain threshold earned in Hell? Or had Dean just missed the signs the way he had caused the injury that had almost killed his brother?

"But he's okay now?" Castiel asked.

Doctor Simons considered her answer carefully before speaking. "I don't want to understate Sam's condition. We had to resect a large portion of bowel as the wound, we are assuming stab wound, was angled and caused a lot of damage. With bowel injuries the risk of infection is high. We're treating him with high-dose prophylactic antibiotics and monitoring him closely. He is in the intensive care unit and we're allowing his body to rest by using assisted ventilation. He is triggering the vent on occasion, so he's trying to do it for himself, but we're not going to remove it until we're sure he's stable enough to control his own breathing. He is unconscious, but he is showing response to painful stimulus. The next twenty-four hours are vital for Sam's prognosis. If we can control any infection and maintain his blood pressure, I will be more confident in chances of recovery."

Mary leaned back in her seat. "So he might not be okay? He could die?"

"He could die," she agreed.

Castiel put an arm around Mary and she fell against him. Dean had never felt so alone. He knew he was the one that should be comforting her, but he felt like he would infect her with his touch. It was his hands that had done this to Sam.

"I've heard enough," Mary said. "I need to see him now."

"There are things you should–" the doctor started, but Mary held up a hand.

"I can't take anymore right now. I just need to see my son. Please. I need to see him."

The doctor got to her feet and said. "I'll take you to him now."

They all stood and followed her to an elevator and up three floors to a long hall with rooms with large windows set into the walls. As they passed them, Dean tried not to look inside, not wanting to see other people fighting for their lives.

A woman in pale green scrubs met them and introduced herself as Olivia, one of Sam's nurses. "The unit doctor is with another patient at the moment," she said. "But he will come to you when he's free, to answer any questions you may have. Sam is in a room down here." She pointed a little further along the hall. "But there can only be two visitors at a time. There is a family room for people to wait between visits. We maintain open visiting hours, so you can stay with him as long as you like, but when procedures are taking place, you will need to leave. In the case of an emergency, you will need to leave immediately. I understand you'll want to be close, but if you're in our way, you can slow treatment and that could be fatal."

"We'll leave," Mary said quickly. "We just want to be with him now."

Olivia led them to Sam's room where there was a trolley with stacks of plastic wrapped green gowns similar to the ones the trauma team had worn.

"You'll need to wear these when you're with Sam, and change them each time you leave the room. They're to minimize the risk of infection. You will also need to wear gloves."

Mary took two gowns and held one out to Dean. When he didn't take it, she said, "It's to protect him, Dean."

"Maybe Cas should go in," Dean said. He wanted to see Sam, but he was worried his presence would be the thing that infected Sam. He didn't want to do anything that might hurt him more than he already had.

Castiel shook his head and stepped back. "Your place is with Sam."

"He needs you, Dean," Mary said firmly.

Dean took the gown and tore open the plastic and then pulled it on. Castiel tied it at the back for him and then helped Mary with hers. They put on gloves and looked expectantly at Olivia who opened the door and entered Sam's room. Mary rushed in after her, and Dean followed slowly, filled with trepidation.

It was even worse than he'd expected. Sam seemed drowned by the equipment around him. The tube down his throat that breathed for him connected to a machine that hissed and clicked as Sam's chest rose and fell at carefully timed intervals. There were tubes in the backs of his hands and feeding under the collar of the gown he was wearing. Dean could see the box beside the bed that he recognized as a portable defibrillator.

"Can we touch him?" Mary asked.

"Yes, but be mindful of the tubes," Olivia said.

Mary approached the bed and stroked Sam's forehead, leaning close to him to whisper, "Hello, love."

Dean swallowed down the cry in his throat. He had not heard her call any of them that since before she died. The last time had been when she was tucking him in bed the last night of her life. She had kissed his forehead and whispered, 'Goodnight, love. Sleep well. Angels are watching over you.'

Dean was thankful she wasn't talking about angels now, as she would have been wrong. The only angel that watched over them was Castiel, waiting outside the window, and he was useless to Sam without his grace. The angel that had the power to save him was currently disembodied grace, unable and unwilling to help. It was him that had done this to Sam. He had used Dean's hands, but it was he who had controlled those hands. The realization made Dean step closer to the bed. Sam had trusted in him to protect him from Michael, and he hadn't, but that had been because he was drowning. It _wasn't_ his fault. All he was doing by blaming himself was distancing him from Sam when he needed him most. The guilty thoughts fell away, and he knew what he needed to do.

He touched Sam's hand with his gloved fingers and said, "It's okay, Sammy. We're here now."

Mary smiled at him from across the bed, and Dean tried to return it.

He had seen Sam do incredible things before, survive against the odds, and he had to believe he would do it again.

* * *

 **So… That was angsty. How was it to read? There is one chapter left now but there will be a continuation/reimagining written that will take the story on. More details are on my profile page.**

 **Prompts:** I asked if you had any prompts in my last update and since talking with Kas3y I've realized that was a pretty broad brief and big ask for you all. If you've read many of my stories, you'll know that a lot of them come from a 'What If' moment. So, I am asking something different this time. If you have any moments in canon in which a choice is made or a direction taken that made you wonder what would have happened if they'd made a different choice, then I'd love to hear them. It doesn't have to be a detailed prompt, just a place to start and an idea of what could happened next would be awesome.

 **Thanks to those of you that have already reached out with a prompt. I'm very grateful and plan to look at them all properly with a view to writing when I have had finished my current WIP.**

 **Until next time…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you so much Jenjoremy for all your work on this story, especially while working your butt off on my other stories. One day I will lighten the load and slow down, I promise.**

 **Thank you Ncsupnatfan for all your support and feedback. You've really helped me make the story work out instead of kicking me ass as short stories tend to do to my wordy self.**

 **Thank you all — old readers and new — for joining me on this short journey. You made it worth the work.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter Five**_

Dean and Mary had been called out of Sam's room so they could speak with the doctor while the nurses tended to Sam. They were led to the family room where Castiel was waiting and gestured to chairs.

Dean was already worried enough without this unexpected meeting, and he wanted to get it over with so he could go back to Sam. He sat down beside Mary, with Castiel on her other side, and took her hand. He had a feeling they were both going to need the comfort.

"How is he?" Castiel asked.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "Not good."

"As you are aware, Sam has a fever," the doctor said. "We believe from his white blood count and other indications that the area around the resection has become infected. Though Sam is not stable enough to be taken for an MRI, we suspect an abscess has formed. Ordinarily we would treat that with surgical intervention, but Sam is unlikely to be able to tolerate a second surgery so soon."

"You mean he'll die?" Castiel asked bluntly.

"Yes."

Mary sagged against Dean and he released her hand to wrap an arm around her.

"What can you do then?" Dean asked.

"At the moment we're taking a more careful approach. We're treating the fever with cool packs and medication. He has a higher dose of antibiotics now, and we're monitoring him closely."

"What do you do if the fever doesn't come down or the infection gets worse?" Mary asked.

"We are doing everything we can to prevent that."

"But this abscess," Dean said. "If that ruptures it will go into his blood, won't it? And that will kill him, too."

The doctor nodded. "That is a risk. It's a balancing act. With his current condition, Sam will almost certainly not survive a second surgery. He needs to stabilize for us to consider attempting it."

"So he'll certainly die if you try, but he could die if you don't?" Castiel asked.

"Yes."

Dean closed his eyes and tried to absorb the shock. He couldn't handle this. It was too much.

"What can we do for him?" Castiel asked.

"You can be with him and support him. There is evidence that unconscious patients are sometimes aware of what's happening around them. If you're inclined, you could pray. That is a comfort to some."

Dean laughed harshly. "Tried that. Prayers aren't getting answered right now."

The doctor sighed and said, "The next twenty-four hours are vital for Sam. If we can reduce his fever and stabilize his blood pressure and other vitals, we will be in a position to reconsider surgery."

Castiel looked away and drew an unsteady breath. Mary buried her face against Dean's shoulder and began to sob. Dean wanted to join her, but he thought one of them had to be strong. If they all fell apart, it might spread to Sam, make him give up the fight.

"I need to be with him again," Mary said, lifting her head and wiping away her tears.

"You may need to wait for them to finish with him," the doctor said. "But afterwards you can go back. Make sure you wear the gown and gloves though."

They stood and walked out into the hall again. Mary and the doctor walked towards Sam's room, but Dean hung back with Castiel.

"You should go with her, Cas," Dean said.

"No! You need to," Castiel said.

"There's something else I need to do," Dean said.

"What?"

"Pray," Dean said simply, walking back into the family room.

Castiel hesitated in the doorway, but then he walked away, the temptation to see Sam apparently outweighing the fact he wanted to help Dean.

Dean closed the door behind him and sat down. He bowed his head and began to beg. "Chuck, I need you. Sam's in a bad way. I think he's really dying. I can't lose him. Not just because he's my brother but because we all need him. Michael is free in this world now, and I need Sam with me to stop him. You have to help us. This isn't just about my family. It's the world this time. Please." His voice broke and a hitched sob crept out. "I need him. You know we're stronger together. You can't leave me to do it alone…"

As a sob built in his throat, he trailed off and wiped at the tears that were now flowing freely down his face.

"Dean."

The voice wasn't Chuck's, it was female, but it made Dean's heart race as he recognized it as the reaper Billie had assigned to watch Sam and Dean. He could think of only one reason she would be there now.

He looked up at her and spoke through his tears. "No, Jessica. Please don't do this. Not to him. I'll do anything. You need a life, take mine," he begged.

She shook her head sadly. "It doesn't work like that. I have orders. There is a natural order."

"But it's not his time!"

"It must be or I wouldn't have been sent. I wanted to give you a chance to say goodbye, but I can't wait long. I don't want him to suffer."

"Please! Not him!"

She shook her head and turned for the door.

Dean leapt up and raced after her through the hall to Sam's room. He ran inside after her, drawing confused looks from Mary and Castiel, and Mary started to say something, not seeming to notice Jessica as she walked toward the bed. Then Dean realized why she'd stopped. Jessica had done something. The heart monitor above the bed was frozen at a peak, the ventilator had paused midway through delivering a breath. Mary and Castiel were motionless. Dean was the only one that was moving.

"Stop!" he shouted. "Leave him alone!"

Jessica smiled sadly and reached for Sam's hand. Dean grabbed at her, determined to keep her away, but before he could make contact, he was thrust back by an invisible force. He thought it had been her at first, and then he noticed the light streaming through the door. It was the blue-white color of grace and it settled over Sam's chest.

Jessica frowned and turned to Dean. "You have a powerful friend, Dean."

"What…?" Dean said weakly.

She shook her head and disappeared. At the same moment, the light disappeared and the room came back to life.

"…need the gown and gloves," Mary said, finishing her sentence as Castiel stood.

Dean barely heard what she said. He was moving closer to the bed where he saw something incredible. Sam's eyes were open and he was making choking, gargling sounds.

All eyes fell on him as he reached for the tube in his throat, and Dean quickly pushed aside Castiel and grabbed Sam's reaching hand. He pushed it down at his side and said, "Take it easy. You need it, Sammy."

Sam's eyes were wide and scared, but they made Dean laugh with the sheer relief he felt.

"I'll get help," Castiel said, and Dean heard the door open and close behind him.

Mary approached the bed and touched Sam's cheek. Sam's eyes found her, and his look of fear became even more pronounced.

"You're okay," she soothed.

The door swung open and the doctor rushed in followed by Olivia. He moved Dean aside and leaned over Sam. He made a shocked sound in his throat and pushed down Sam's hand as he reached for his breathing tube again, making a choking sound as he tried to breathe around it.

"It's okay, Sam," he said. "I can take it out if you stay calm."

Sam's hand dropped back to his side and he fixed his imploring eyes on the doctor who said, "Everyone out, please. You can come back in a minute. Olivia, prepare the oxygen."

Mary took Dean's hand and tugged him out of the room. They went to the window and stared in as the doctor removed the elastic holding the tube in place and said something they couldn't hear. Sam moved restlessly as the tube was removed and an oxygen mask was quickly put over his mouth. The doctor printed out something from one of the machines and examined it and then checked Sam's chest with a stethoscope. Olivia said something and he nodded, looking shocked. He examined Sam's abdomen and shook his head then turned and came to the door and stepped into the hall where Dean and Mary crowded him.

"I have no explanation," he said. "Sam's fever has broke. His blood pressure is perfect, his pulse is strong, and the swelling over his abdomen is gone. I have _never_ seen anything like this before. It's nothing short of a miracle."

Dean didn't wait to question or reassure. He rushed back inside to Sam's bedside. Sam still looked scared and Dean grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight. "It's okay," he assured him.

Sam pushed away the mask over his face and spoke in a strong but scared voice. "How? What did you do?"

"Nothing, Sammy," Dean said. "I swear. It wasn't me. It was grace. I saw it."

"You saw it?" Mary asked.

"Jessica the reaper was here," Dean said. "She was … You were going to… And then there was all this grace. I don't know where it came from."

Castiel's phone beeped and he took it from his pocket seemingly automatically and read the text. He huffed a laugh and said, "I do."

Dean spun to look at him. "What?"

Castiel held up the phone and Dean read the message aloud, "'Take care of them, Castiel.' Who's it…" He spotted the name above the message. "Chuck!"

"Chuck?" Sam said in a breathy voice. "Is he back?"

"I don't think so," Castiel said. "But he has done this for us."

"Would have helped if he'd stayed," Sam croaked in a rough voice.

Dean laughed hoarsely. "It would, but I think he came through on the right thing for once. He saved you."

"Yes," Mary said weakly, her head bowing over Sam's chest and her shoulders starting to shake.

Sam looked at Dean and raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"

Dean nodded soberly. "That bad, Sammy."

Sam patted Mary's back and said, "Then I guess it's good he came through."

Dean grinned. "It really is."

Michael still needed to be dealt with, but Dean would have swapped a dozen Michaels in the world to keep Sam. Chuck had answered the prayer that mattered. Sam was going to be okay, and they would deal with Michael together.

He closed his eyes and muttered, "Thank you, Chuck."

He might have been imagining it, but he thought he felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder in response. He wondered if Chuck was there now, watching their moment of joy and relief without talking to them.

He supposed it didn't matter if he was. He'd done what mattered. He'd saved Sam.

* * *

 **So… That was Consequences. What did you think? I promised Iuvsbruce a happy ending, and I think I delivered.**

 **This was only ever supposed to be a short story in response to a prompt but, as so often happens to me, the idea took hold. I came up with a completely different direction for it that I want to explore in a full-length story. I am not sure when it will be written as I have other projects to work on, but it is outlined already. Keep an eye out for** _ **The Price You Pay**_ **as it will be landing in your inbox at some point.**

 **I know I will see some of you again soon for one of my other posting stories, but for the rest of you, I hope you enjoyed my work and I hope to see you again.**

 **Until the next story…**

 **Clowns or Midgets xxx**


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